


you would find her in a polaroid picture

by Pinkmanite



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Girl!Alex, Girl!Dylan, Pining, Rule 63, this is a love story I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Dylan’s heart is a force of its own and sometimes (most of the time) even she herself doesn’t quite fully understand it. But it’s right there, boasted on her sleeve like her jersey number, and she wears it just as proudly.





	1. lemongrass and sleep

**Author's Note:**

> titles are from "she" by dodie  
> which this fic was originally based on but it kind of ran and did its own thing, as it does

 

The first time that Dylan sees Alex DeBrincat, she feels just a little bit intimidated in that _I kinda want to be her_ sort of way. It’s just, she’s this skinny little thing, just a bit shorter than Dylan, but she walks like she commands the room, hips swishing with confidence.

She doesn’t have makeup on, as far as Dylan can tell (which to be honest, isn’t a very good gage because Connor is probably better at makeup than Dylan at this point. And that’s not any kind of kudos to Connor’s makeup skills, none at all). But she’s straightened her hair and she’s got these blonde highlights and she looks everything a hockey girl is and can be.

She walks with her shoulders back, chin up, and with such grace that Dylan could never even dream of having.

She walks right up to Dylan, while Dylan’s breath is still caught in her throat and she’s probably still staring at her in mild awe.

“Hey, you’re Dylan right?” She says it like she knows fully well that she’s Dylan and doesn’t care to mask it. “I’m Alex. Us girls gotta stick together, right?” She winks.

Dylan nods, and maybe manages to sputter out something maybe coherent until she gets herself together. “Absolutely,” she gives Alex her best toothy grin, retainer and all. “Welcome to the club.”

It’s the start of something, and maybe Dylan doesn’t really know what, not quite yet, but she will. Soon enough.

 

~

 

Dylan knows exactly what this feeling is, long before she’s ready to admit it to herself. It isn’t the first time, and she’s certain in won’t be the last, but every time it hits her, it hits devastatingly hard.

Usually, when it just starts out, Dylan is pretty good about pushing down and down and down until it’s squandered into nothing. Until she can get over it and move on and not have to feel so much of what she feels.

Dylan knows it’s not good to bottle things up, but some things are best left sealed, stored, and forgotten.

But there’s something different when it comes to Alex. It’s like she can’t get the cap to screw shut all the way, like Alex bubbles too much out of control and won’t stay down no matter how hard Dylan shoves her bottle all the way at the bottom.

And for the first time, Dylan slips up, and wonders, just briefly, if she’s _allowed_ to look at her like this, just this once. But as soon as the thought processes, it scares her, and she tries again, desperately now, to push it away.

 

~

 

Every time Dylan pushes, no matter how hard she tries, it always comes back, bubbling up and unchaseable.

 

~

 

It’s just, Alex gets her. Dylan doesn’t really know any other way to explain it, but Alex understands her like no one else. It’s like Alex is in her head, but in the best way. Like their thoughts flow back and forth, like they’re a hundred percent in sync, all of the time.

There’s times where Dylan doesn’t even have to say anything, where Dylan will look and Alex is already looking, the hint of a smile on her face. They don’t have to say a single word but there’s a whole conversation between them.

It’s nice, really nice. Even if Connor thinks it weird and laughs and tells them so.

She and Alex laugh along, too, and give him shit for being a dumb boy, chalking it up to their girl athletes connection thing. It’s light, it’s placating. But when Connor’s not looking, Alex shoots her another look and Dylan knows all the words that she doesn’t say.

Dylan sends all of her own words back, wrapped up in a little wink.

 

~

 

When Alex smiles, Dylan can’t help but smile, too. When she laughs, Dylan feels it, the raucous noise of it, vibrations in her bones as if she herself was the one laughing. When Alex cellies, Dylan feels the pride in her throat as if it were her own. But when Alex is down, when she’s upset, when she’s mopy and irritable…. Dylan feels that, too.

Alex tries not to show it, she’s the type to bottle it all up and try to fake a smile and try and hold together until she’s by herself. But Dylan knows her better than anyone else. Dylan knows, almost immediately, when she’s hurting.

“Hey, hey,” Dylan catches her before she practically runs out of the locker room, unshowered and hastily dressed.

“Dylan, I’m fine,” she says quickly, an immediate reaction. “Look, I really have to go.” She won’t look her in the face.

“It’s okay,” Dylan says softly, squeezes her hand gently then lets it go. “Just, wait up for me, okay? By the car?”

Alex shuffles. “We drove separate today.”

Dylan shrugs. “I know. But,” she inhales, “please?”

“Okay,” she agrees, barely audible. She takes a deep breath, just a little shaky, then goes. Dylan lets her.

She doesn’t rush but she tries to be efficient. Her hair goes up in a lazy bun, she skips the facewash and mental-notes to make up for it before bed tonight. She doesn’t beat Connor out but the locker room is still pretty full by the time she’s headed to the parking lot.

Dylan didn’t doubt it at all, but she’s still relieved to see Alex through the window of her car. She’s sitting in the passenger, and while it’d make sense to just take Dylan’s car if she’s driving anyway, Dylan understand that it’s deeper than that.

It’s Alex space and Dylan is simply a guest in it. Because she had asked and because Alex had allowed her to be. It’s a sacred kind of trust between the two of them and Dylan knows to treat it with soft hands.

Dylan drives and drives until they’re at the lakefront. It’s too cold for anyone to actually do anything here and the off season means it’s a little overgrown and litter-prone, but it’s quiet and it’s just them and you can hear the water lap at the shore.

She doesn’t say anything, just sits and lets Alex follow her lead and take deep breaths and take it all in so she can deal with it at her own pace. She’s still not used to sharing her unsavory emotions, so Dylan doesn’t push her. She’s here if she wants her, quiet if she doesn’t.

It’s a while before Alex says something.

“I know I’m capable of being so much better.” It’s quiet, soft, barely there. A confession thrown into the wind and carried out to skim over the water.

Dylan takes her hand and squeezes once, twice. “In order for there to be ups, there has to be downs.”

Alex laughs, mirthless. “Well the downs really fucking suck.”

“But that’s why you have people to help pull you back up,” Dylan pauses. “Let me pull you back up, Ally.”

She breathes in sharply, and Dylan knows she must be thinking a whole lot all at once. But eventually, she shuts her eyes and leans into Dylan, rests her head on her shoulder. She blinks at the water, traces the horizon with her gaze.

“I trust you with my life,” Alex murmurs, and maybe it’s not even meant for Dylan to hear, but she hums, anyway. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

 

~

 

That night, they ditch their plans with Connor and have a girls’ night, curled up in the biggest blanket in the house with all the pillows and cushions on the ground in front of the big television. They binge watch chick flicks, the kind that the guys make fun of them for, and eat ice cream straight out of the carton.

Alex leans on Dylan, curls the blanket tighter around them and plays with Dylan’s curls, tugging out every braid halfway through just because she knows it drives Dylan crazy.

“Eat your fucking ice cream,” Dylan finally growls, but she doesn’t sound angry in the slightest.

Alex giggles and finishes the braid shes on, pats Dylan’s head twice to signal her completed piece of art.

“If you insist,” Alex grins, then leans in quickly, manages to steal the ice cream right off of Dylan’s spoon. Not without a streak of chocolate smeared across her cheek, though. A minor casualty.

Dylan just rolls her eyes, scoops up another spoonful and holds it out to Alex.

“Why do I keep you?”

Alex winks. “You keep asking yourself that.” And swallows that spoonful, too.

 

~

 

Alex is fucking gorgeous.

She doesn’t like taking pictures unless she’s got makeup on, doesn’t like guest-starring in Dylan’s snap story unless she’s blow-dried her hair. Which, knowing Alex, is rarely ever. But as much as she moans and groans about it, she always gives in in the end. Maybe just because it’s Dylan.

Try getting Alex in _your_ snap story with cute matching dog filters, McDavid, you just try.

It makes Dylan feel special, that Alex doesn’t mind it only when it’s Dylan who’s asking.

But it’s kind of Dylan’s favorite argument, if you can even call it that. The _convince Alex she’s beautiful_ argument. Because Dylan wouldn’t lie to her buddies, and it’s true because she calls Connor “pizza face” more often than she calls him “Connor.”

Point is, Dylan isn’t lying. Sometimes she’ll accidentally stare, when Alex is in the kitchen with her hair in a half-fallen-out pony that she totally must’ve slept in, strands sticking up in every which direction. The sun is barely up, long and orangey gold and glistening off her hair, off the edges of her skin, soft and warm and _radiant_.

Dylan will sit there at the table — she herself drowning in a much too big tee-shirt and baggy sweats rolled at the waist at least four times— and watch Alex start up the first round of coffee. Nothing to occupy her hands, nothing to occupy her thoughts, nothing to occupy anything except for unadulterated Alex DeBrincat, right there for Dylan to take in.

But Dylan catches herself staring. She can feel the heat rise in her cheeks, so she looks away and stares at a stack of plates instead.

Not nearly as good to look at.

But Alex is never off her mind for long. There’s a shuffle across from her and she finally looks up, met dead-on with Alex’s sleepy smile and a steamy cup slid her way.

“Three sugars and two creams,” Alex says, but her eyes say _good morning._

“Just the way it should be,” Dylan huffs with her own grin, the one that says _good morning to you, too._

They sit in silence, sipping quietly at their mugs, but the conversation is absolutely riveting.

 

~

 

Alex likes to go on runs in the morning.

Dylan is one hundred percent not a morning person. Getting up earlier than noon is less than stellar, so most days are mini battle to roll out of bed. Usually, anyway.

But Alex likes to go on runs in the morning, like the really, really early kind of mornings when most people are still sleeping and you’re back before they even wake up and notice.

She insists that it helps her start her day, jumpstarts her brain until she can function properly, hones her focus until it’s sharp enough to be the very best self she can be.

It’s kind of inspirational, really, but not nearly enough to be the real reason that Dylan is eventually persuaded into joining her.

When Alex goes on a run, she’s determined as she ever is for everything else. It’s like a mild taste of how she is when it comes to hockey, when they’re both on ice and making shit happen. When Alex is set on something, she is absolutely set.

Dylan’s admiration of that, of _her,_ is the real inspiration here. Besides, she’ll gladly take each and every opportunity to have more Dylan-and-Alex Time. Always.

So most days go like this: Alex yanks Dylan out of bed, they down their first round of coffee, and Dylan finds herself literally running after Alex DeBrincat.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

~

 

There’s this one time, when Alex goes home for a weekend to visit her family and it’s really just Connor and Dylan stranded in Erie.

“Wanna go on a run with me tomorrow morning?” Connor shrugs at the end of their video game sesh.

Dylan makes a face. “Running? In the morning? By choice?”

“Yeah?” Connor pulls a face. “Don’t you usually?”

Shaking her head, Dylan scoffs. “Doesn’t sound like me, sorry man.”

Connor is confused, but also not really.

 

~

 

Taylor gets one of those cute little polaroid cameras for Christmas and it’s like, her latest and greatest obsession. Must’ve been a long, lonely break because she’s really gotten into it, looked into custom photo sheets with patterns and invested in sheets of tiny stickers, with a heavy emphasis in the cartoon otter series.

To put simply, she’s got a lot of photo sheets and decorative shit and she’s determined to make sure her whole ass team appreciates it.

It’s after a particularly good game. Dylan’s feeling on top of the world, a goal and some points under her belt. A good chunk courtesy of Alex, of course. Alex, who Dylan wants to hug again and again and never stop cellying with. Alex, who Dylan wants to hold forever and never let go. Alex, who—

“Hey!” Taylor grins when she spots Dylan tying up her hair, still wet from the shower. “How boutta picture of my superstar girlies, yeah?” She waves around her dumb camera.

Dylan rolls her eyes. “No thanks, bro.”

But Taylor isn’t phased, her grin only growing wider. “Come on, Stromer,” she singsongs, “you know you wanna.”

“I really don’t.”

“Fine,” Taylor shrugs, but she doesn’t sound defeated at all. “But you will if Alex will.”

And that’s—

Okay, that’s _true_ but that’s totally not fair. Dylan spins around, protests ready on her tongue, but Taylor’s already across the locker room, cozying up to Alex.

Dylan sighs and turns back to the mirror, resigned. And sure enough, Taylor and Alex come up behind her shortly after.

“Alright, alright, let’s do this,” Dylan huffs, but it’s much lighter, now that Alex is here. “Call the shots, Ally, I am your model.”

Alex just punches her in the arm instead. “Don’t be weird, just like, stand there and look cute.”

“That’s a little hard—”

“Oh shut up,” Alex swats at her _again_ , which rude, even if it’s kind of endearing—

Wait. Focus Stromer. “Let’s just take it so Taylor can decorate it and whatever and leave us alone.”

Alex laughs, but throws her arm around Dylan’s middle, pulls her closer. They’re pressed together, all the way from thigh to shoulder, and it’s not like it’s new. Quite the opposite, it’s so incredibly familiar.

Feels so incredibly like that’s how they belong.

But Taylor is right there and yelling something about moving this arm or that so Dylan does what she does best and pushes those thoughts down until she has to focus on the moment, which is grinning for the camera and savoring the feeling of Alex at her side.

The camera clicks, the photo prints, and while they’re slow to separate, they still do, eventually.

“Thanks guys,” Taylor beams, carefully sliding the half-developed photo into a tiny album. “I’ll pimp this out with some stickers and then you guys can fight over it,” she winks.

“Fight?” Dylan blinks, but Taylor is already turned to leave, barely hears.

She waves a hand over her shoulder, doesn’t even turn to look. “You’re gonna end up giving it to Alex, but I’d watch that fight.”

“Hey!” Dylan tries to protest, but Taylor has already tuned her out and Alex just laughs.

“Can’t wait for my photo,” Alex smiles too-sweetly, and Dylan can’t believe this is her life.

Actually, she one hundred percent can.

 

~

 

Taylor doesn’t actually make them fight. She cuts out the middleman and just gives it to Alex. Short, simple, quiet. So much that Dylan doesn’t even know until she sees it in Alex’s phone case.

“Oh,” Dylan picks it up at the breakfast table, still half-asleep. “I guess it came out pretty good.”

It takes Alex, who is also _mostly_ asleep, a second to realize what Dylan’s talking about.

“Look, Tay put the little otters on it for us. The hand-holdey ones.” Her smile is sleepy and soft and she probably doesn’t even know she’s wearing it, but Dylan notices, and Dylan knows. She leans into it, doesn’t even try to stop herself.

Dylan looks at the picture through the clear case Alex has on. It’s gold on the edges, worn on the corners, and there’s a fading sticker from an orange in the bottom corner. But the rest of it is crystal clear, boasting their picture front and center.

They both look just as much fresh out of the shower that they were; hair tossed up messily, clean-faced still a little shiny, only highlighted by the flash. Dylan’s still got a hint of a helmet mark, if you look closely enough, and Alex’s cheeks are still a little ruddy, only noticeable if you know just exactly how pale she really is.

“I like it,” Dylan finally says.

She doesn’t look at Alex just then, because she knows that if she does, it’ll tell her a lot more words than she’s ready to tell.

God, Dylan is in so over her head.

 

~

 

Dylan comes really close to doing it.

It’s that split second, when they bring out the trophy and feels like it’s just the two of them out there, on top of the fucking world. They’re so close, Dylan doesn’t even know how they got so close, but they are.

Alex’s face is right there, and she’s looking right back at her, silently saying a million things a minute, too much for Dylan to process, which means too fast for Alex herself to process.

It’d be so fucking easy to do it right there. To just let it slip because it feels like she should, feels like it fits. It’d be easy to lean in the remaining tiny extra space and kiss her, could easily do it in barely a second.

It’d be easy to backtrack and say it was just really in the moment, easy to write off as girls being extra-friendly or whatever bullshit that people think. It’d be easy to take it back.

But Dylan doesn’t want it to be.

So in that split second, Dylan makes the decision not to do it, and to never do it. Because Dylan loves Alex, and if telling her so risks anything between the two of them, Dylan won’t chance it.

Dylan won’t tell Alex that she loves her _because_ she loves her. It’s for the best. She doesn’t know who she’s trying to convince here, but she builds the argument up in her head and she sticks to it.

Besides, juniors doesn’t last forever, and she is absolutely sure they’re going to be off in the NHL, probably to never play together again.

Dylan doesn’t know this got so sad, but she makes sure not to look Alex in the face, lest she catches on.

 

~

 

Usually, Dylan is right. Usually, she’s happy to rub that in everyone’s face.

But usually, her favorite person in the entire world isn’t getting drafted to city half a country away.

Alex would look good in absolutely anything, but she especially looks good in the classic bright red. It matches her lipstick, and Dylan has never both loved and hated a color more in her life.

 

~

 

Arizona means that Dylan gets tanner and her bikini collection grows exponentially.

Chicago means that Alex stays just as pale, and her affinity for “borrowing” Dylan’s dusty boxes of quarter-zips and long sleeve tees only strengthens.

The distance isn’t completely unnoticeable, but it’s not nearly devastating, either.

It’s not ideal, and Dylan misses their coffee and their runs and late nights talking about nonsense and secret language of looks. She misses holding Alex’s hand and cellying with her and sharing blankets on the bus and making beautiful hockey happen together. She misses all of it, but she’s still got some of that, still got some of Alex, every now and then and it’s worth it enough.

They adapt. They text even more than they used to, they FaceTime more nights than they don’t. They schedule work out times so they can still technically do it together, even when the prairies and deserts separate them.

They find ways. They make do.

  
~

 

_(tbc)_

 


	2. apple juice and peach

Dylan hears a rumor that Stan Bowman had flown down to watch one of their games and honestly, she doesn’t really think anything of it. In fact, she tracks Vinnie down, elbows him in the ribs, and tells him that he’s come to bring him back, true Brandon Saad style.

“One, that’s totally not the same,” Vinnie groans, half-heartedly swatting her away. “Two, ouch? Too fucking soon, man.”

Dylan shrugs. “Well they already cleared out Q so it deffo isn’t for Hammer.”

Vinnie rolls his eyes first, then is apparently hit with an idea because he pulls a smug ass face, like he knows something. “Maybe he’s sending Alex here, too.”

And, Dylan hasn’t thought about that — the possibility of the two of them playing together again, that is — in a  _ very _ long time. She knows that Vinnie is just messing with her, but. Being hit with the reminder that it isn’t likely she’ll get to play next to Alex again… that fucking sucks.

Vinnie picks up on the mood change, like a good bro, and starts apologizing. He’s a good guy, but Dylan immediately feels bad, too, and won’t have any of that. 

“Alright, I think we’ve both accidentally struck some nerves,” she tries to play it down, puts on a smile that she’s pretty sure that Vinnie sees right through. “Besides, I don’t even know it it’s real. Someone just said something about it on Twitter, who knows.”

Vinnie sees the out as it is and agrees. “Maybe he just likes watching hockey games.”

And at that, Dylan for-real laughs. “Okay, Kyle Dubas.”

“Come on,” Vinnie says, laughing, too, now. He starts to get up, going for the TV cabinet. “Chel?”

Dylan nods enthusiastically, greedily calls dibs on the red controller, and just like that, it’s back to easy and light. 

 

~

 

It’s not like Dylan’s never thought about it.

In fact, there was a point in time where it’s all Dylan ever thought about. The thing is, it was always pretty much accepted that she’d probably never play NHL hockey with Connor or Mitchie, it was never really a possibility. There was never any hope. 

But with Alex, there was always that little sliver of  _ But Maybe _ , no matter how slim the odds, there were at least odds that existed. It wasn’t impossible, no matter how unrealistic, but impossible and unrealistic are far from the same thing. Dylan could never get herself to let go of that last little bit of hope, not until the very last second.

The further and further Alex slid down the pick order, the more Dylan’s heart sank for her, but the more Dylan’s heart fluttered in selfish, selfish hope. 

Maybe she should’ve noticed the net zero.

But Dylan’s heart is a force of its own and sometimes (most of the time) she herself doesn’t even quite understand it. But it’s right there — boasted on her sleeve just like her jersey number — and she wears it just as proudly.

So it’s maybe a little obvious how upset she is when that last shred of hope is squandered with the overdue call of Alex’s name. Maybe it’s a little obvious how much it chokes Dylan up, suffocating the last of her dreams.

The last of her courage, too.

So Dylan tries not to think about it anymore, tries to do what she’s always failed to do in locking away every last bit of her feelings for Alex, her hopes for a future —  _ any _ kind of future — with Alex.

But now here she is, more than two years later, dusting off the boxes packed full with all the hopes and dreams that once built her up yet inevitably broke her down.

It aches in her chest, even before she’s completely peeled back the seams.

 

~

 

It’s kind of funny.

She’s moping, and it’s pretty obvious, especially when Kells comes home with a tub of Dylan’s favorite Bad Loss Ice Cream  _ and _ a bottle of chocolate drizzle. 

“We won the last one,” Dylan blinks, confused.

“Yeah, but,” he shrugs, “you don’t look like it.”

“Hey,” Dylan crosses her arms over her chest, mildly affronted, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Kells just shoves the grocery bag at her. “I’m going to go get bowls and shit so you can have your Feel Better Ice Cream, and then we can talk about it when your face looks less miserable.”

“I really don’t know if I should be offended or endeared right now.”

“What do you mean,” Kells shouts from the kitchen, “I came with offerings, you best be incredibly endeared.”

Dylan gets to work opening the packaging. “We’ll see.”

Kells comes back with bowls and spoons, and also napkins because sometimes they’re at least a little bit good at adulting. He hands it to Dylan but keeps the ice cream scoop, still a little wet from when he must’ve run it under hot water. 

“Three scoops or four?” Kells already has his sleeves rolled up, concentrated on skimming out the ice cream. 

“Four?” Dylan says. “Jesus, how sad have I been?”

Kells laughs. “Four scoops worth.”

“We are so not telling the trainers about this,” she says, which basically translates to ‘yes give me four scoops.’

Kells gets it, drops the fourth ball of mint chocolate chip into the bowl and doesn’t even bother doing the chocolate himself. He tosses the bottle to her. “Knock yourself out, kiddo.”

“Kiddo,” Dylan repeats, incredulous, but that’s about the end of it because she’s particularly more fixated on the bowl of pure happiness currently in front of her. She practically drowns it in chocolate, maybe just a little maniacally. 

“That’s like totally something a serial killer probably does,” Kells says, staring in disbelief at Dylan’s bowl. 

“Maybe you’re next,” Dylan winks, already a little more cheery after two bites. “But it’d be your own fault, you should be used to this by now. You’ve seen the signs.” She emphasizes this by swallowing a spoonful of what’s probably ninety percent chocolate sauce, then licking her spoon clean.

Kells waves his own spoon at her. “Don’t mark me, I’m practically your accomplice at this point.”

“Fine,” Dylan grins, genuine for the first time in a little while. “I guess you’ve earned your pass.”

“You know it,” Kells matches her grin.

They go all in on their ice cream after that. It’s a comfortable silence, accompanied only by the soft clang of spoons scraping against their bowls. Kells finishes first and starts tidying up. By the time Dylan brings her bowl to the kitchen, he’s drying his off, leaned casually against the counter. 

He waits until she’s finished rinsing hers off, too.

“You wanna talk about it now?”

Dylan doesn’t look at him, she half shrugs. “I guess.”

“I mean,” Kells says, softer now, “you don’t have to, but usually you want to, and I’m ready to listen and nod if that’s the case.”

She nods, but doesn’t talk right away. They make it back to the couch and she gets comfy, surrounds herself with throw pillows, slips her feet under a cushion. 

“It’s just, the whole thing with Stan Bowman scouting out our game the other day,” she starts, slow and careful as she organizes her thoughts along the way. “Like, it’s right there,” she blurts, frustrated. “It’s so fucking close but it’s never going to happen, and, and—” She stops herself, and huffs, tangled in finding the right words.

“Hold on, hold on,” Kells is suddenly next to her, hand on her shoulder, grounding. “It’s okay, take it slow, but,” he pauses, then even quieter, “is this about Alex?”

And, of course it’s about Alex. It’s always about Alex. Dylan is pretty thick skinned, she’s got a pretty good handle on herself, a solid understanding of who she is. So everything else is pretty much manageable in the end, everything else can be broken down until it makes enough sense for her to digest. But when it’s Alex—

Nothing is simple, nothing makes sense, because absolutely everything makes sense yet is still somehow just out of fucking reach.

It’s  _ cruel _ is what it is.

But instead of saying that, all Dylan manages is, “I miss her.”

Kells is patient and he really does sit with her and listen and nod and let her ramble out what’s floating around her head until all the pieces are on the table, no matter how mixed up and out of order. 

“It sounds like you really, really love her,” Kells says after they’ve hugged it out and let it settle for a while.

Dylan nods. “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

It feels strange, but incredibly right to say out loud. 

Baby steps.

 

~

 

Dylan doesn’t necessarily feel great after, but she feels five tons lighter, a little bit more focused, and a lot more sure of the things she’s always, always known.

So maybe it’s a little ironic, when she gets the call after all the work she and Kells had put into building herself back up.

 

~

 

“I’m coming to Chicago.”

“I thought you don’t have a break for a while?”

“No, I mean I’m coming to play  _ in _ Chicago.”

“Dylan, that’s not funny, stop fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“Go to bed, bro.”

“Alex.”

“...”

“I’m serious.”

“...”

“Look at twitter if you don’t believe me.”

“Dylan oh my god.”

“Yeah?”

“Dylan, holy shit! Dylan!”

 

~

 

They go straight from the airport right to the rink and Dylan is admittedly a little overwhelmed with all of it. It’s just, she really hasn’t had time to actually process it, to fully realize that the one thing she’s always dreamed of is actually happening. 

Then suddenly, she’s thrown right into the middle of it before she even really grasps the scope here.

It’s a lot.

So she’s maybe a little nervous, still kind of plane-groggy, skating out right behind Bubs. She’s not wobbly, but she feels it. Like, metaphorically. She knows what she must look like, wide-eyed and awed.

But then she scans over her new team and spots her immediately. She’s already looking, smile soft on her face, both just quietly watching and waiting at the same time. 

_   
_ ‘Hi,’ Alex mouths, but her eyes sparkle with a little bit more, a  _ I can’t believe we’re here, can’t believe it’s finally happening _ and a  _ I’ve missed you so much _ and  _ I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting to play with you again _ all wrapped up in one glint, one slight nod of her head.

Dylan grins right back, and knows that Alex catches every word on her side of the conversation, too.

They have to pause, because Colliton introduces them to the team, then gives a rundown of what’s going on, what they’re working on, what their goals are. Dylan tries to focus but she’s buzzing, and she keeps sneaking glances at Alex, who keeps making faces at her, trying to say something with it. 

“Oh, and DeBrincat,” Colliton says at the end of his spiel, pulling their attention back to him. “Why don’t you take Strome and show her the ropes.”

“Got it, coach,” Alex says, doesn’t even try to hide the smile in her voice. She nods at Dylan. “Hey stranger.”

Dylan skates up to her and bumps her in the side. She grins, mischievous. “Hi, I’m Dylan Strome. My teammates usually call me Stromer.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alex holds out a gloves hand, but Dylan takes it, no matter how awkwardly they fit together. “I’m Alex DeBrincat and they call me a lot of things around here, you can pick your favorite, though.”

“I think I like Brinksy, that one rolls off the tongue real nice.”

“Oh,” Alex says, considering, the charade dissolving. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm,” Alex affirms. “They like Cat around here.”

Dylan scoffs. “Oh that is  _ real _ cute.”

Alex rolls her eyes and doesn’t hesitate to poke at Dylan’s shins with her stick. “You here to be cute or play hockey?”

Dylan goes sly, kicks the ice half-heartedly in Alex’s general direction. “Who said you can’t do both?”

And with a laugh, she skates off and joins the line for drills. 

She’s got a good feeling about this, a  _ real _ good feeling. 

 

~

 

Dylan spends one night in a hotel before Alex shows up and personally drags Dylan’s suitcases out to her car herself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alex tuts, “I have a whole entire extra room. And a dog. I know you love that dog, don’t front.”

“I do love the dog,” Dylan shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

“I know I’m not,” Alex says, confident as always. “Besides, you know my place pretty well already. It’s just easier.”

Dylan smiles now, cheeky, “and you’re lonely, just you and the dog.”

“Tch,” Alex bumps their shoulders together. “Me? Lonely? Don’t project all over me, babe.”

And, while that’s not entirely wrong, Dylan knows Alex more than well enough to know she’s deflecting. She’s distracted, looking everywhere except for at Dylan. And really, she gets it. She understands. 

It’s not so much a full, total loneliness, but there’s something about being so separated from your best friend, your person, after spending years sharing each others’ space until it feels natural, like it feels like the way things  _ should _ be.

Dylan understands all of it, but she reads Alex and knows better than to say so right now. Instead, she takes back her suitcase, loads it into Alex’s trunk herself. “Well I hope you know what you signed up for, because you’re definitely going to be the opposite of lonely, now.”

Alex laughs, hits a button and watches the trunk close automatically. “Oh I know what I’m signing up for. I think we had it pretty figured it out, don’t you?”

And, yeah. Dylan smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

It’s easy to fall back into the familiar, especially with Alex.

 

~

 

Dylan’s first game is a total shit show. 

Well. Dylan had an i _ ncredible _ game. Like, as an individual. She nets a really nice goal, plays some quality minutes, and clicks with Alex like they never stopped playing alongside each other. It’s like everything good that could possibly happen gets checked off. 

Everything except for the win.

There’s only so much that one person can do, Dylan knows this, but it doesn’t make the blowout any less terrible. They lose, by a  _ lot, _ and she can’t help but be bummed about it. What’s a goal without the win? 

She goes through her press as brave-faced as she can, but is grateful when they eventually shuffle over to Toews, who takes the brunt of it. 

Dylan’s so lost in her head, re-dressing on complete autopilot, that she doesn’t even notice Alex until she’s right up at her side, hand on her elbow. 

“Hey, it happens,” Alex offers, quietly. “But  _ you _ did amazing.”

“We lost,” is all Dylan says back.

“We did,” Alex says, settling in next to her. 

“Classic debut,” Dylan says bitterly, “complete blowout loss, what a disappointment, that Dylan Strome.”

“You were fantastic,” Alex snaps, incredulous. Dylan lifts a questioning brow, because Alex says it with so much conviction, so much certainty, and Dylan doesn’t really quite know what to do with that.

“But not fantastic enough to win.”

Alex huffs. “It’s team sport, Dyl.”

Dylan shrugs.

“Well, at the very least,” Alex keeps pushing, wraps an arm around Dylan’s waist and pulls her in closer. “We have to celebrate your first Chicago goal, eh?”

“I don’t know—”

“Come on, it’s my last few weeks on my fake. Gotta send it out with a bang, right?”

And, it’s a lot more of a loaded statement than anyone else would ever pick on. Dylan has a flashback, just a split second, of milling around Connor’s billet’s basement, precariously perched on a chair and holding up two iPhones with flashlights on while Connor carefully tried to take Alex’s headshot against the whitest piece of wall they could find. 

She remembers switching spots for her own and for Connor’s, remembers hesitantly sending the wire at the kiosk at the Rite-Aid across town. She remembers checking the mailbox every day before their billets came home and finally snatching the nondescript envelope out and shaking it until three plastic IDs, with each of their smiling faces, tumbled out. 

Connor lost his in a matter of months and Dylan was good about hers but it’s been retired since March. Alex is the last to turn and it’s kind of sad, in a that growing up kind of way.

So Dylan shrugs. “Fine, fine. Out with a bang.”

Alex grins. “First round on me.”

“Deal.”

 

~

 

The marketing media department absolutely eats them up.

It’s an easy enough narrative to pick up and cultivate, especially when Dylan and Alex so naturally fall back into step with each other. Really, they just go on with doing their thing and Marketing follows them around and makes use of what they can.

The Christmas card is kind of peak, and it’s more amusing than anything. It comes out really good, even though Dylan’s hair is a little extra fluffy today and she didn’t have time to make Alex braid it. Alex looks stunning, as always, Dylan thinks. But the overall thing is perfect, their smiles genuine, because really they were in the middle of laughing at some comment Alex had made under her breath. 

Dylan sends it to her mom, who promises to have it framed. 

They send the camera crew along for Road to the Winter Classic footage and they let them ride with them after practice, let them follow them back up to Alex’s condo, where Dylan’s stuff has successfully been scattered around in her own homey way. 

It’s a little awkward, but it’s easy for Dylan and Alex to make things look natural when it’s the two of them. So they take the easy out and queue up a round of Chel. 

But.

“You guys natural gamers?” One of the crew asks off-camera, an unfortunately familiar hint to his voice. 

Dylan tries not to make a face, but she feels Alex tense next to her, too. But she keeps her cool, tries to handle it with grace. “These days I’d say we play a lot of video games.”

“Oh that’s cool,” the camera guy says, and really he should’ve stopped there. “I just wouldn’t have thought you were the type.”

“We are, though,” Alex cuts in, a little sharper than Dylan would’ve. But Alex has more of a space here, and she isn’t afraid to wield it to her advantage. “Any other questions?” And there is definitely a clear edge to her voice, now.

The camera guy just shrugs, but lays off. 

It’s not hard to block that moment out, though, and get back into whatever camera-friendly mood the media’s gunning for. They play a couple of rounds, chirp the shit out of each other with a few giggles, until it’s eventually time to take Ralphie out. 

They’re still mic’d up, but the cameras follow them a little bit more loosely. The riverwalk is easily one of Alex’s favorite routes — Dylan knows she jogs down here sometimes, when she really want to clear her head — so it’s kind of nice, kind of familiar, relaxing, even with the chill of the wind against their faces and the cameras not too far behind.

Ralph keeps darting between the two of them, sometimes tangling his leash in their feet. It’s kind of really endearing, though, and Dylan can’t help but coo at him in her puppy voice.

“Still mic’d,” Alex laughs, elbows her in the boob.

“Dick,” Dylan elbows her back, but she’s grinning and sounds the furthest from upset.

“I know you are but what am I,” Alex singsongs annoyingly, hand over her mic. 

But Dylan doesn’t have the same foresight. “I wanna bodycheck you  _ so _ bad right now,” she says.

With her hand still on her mic, Alex grins devilishly. “Yeah?”

So Dylan, without fully thinking, pulls back and then drives all her weight in at once, knocking into Alex until she’s off balance and stumbling to stay on her feet, but laughing and laughing, loud and bright. 

Media catches up to them, then, and the moment isn’t totally lost, but Dylan and Alex know better than to keep wrestling each other in public and on camera. Neither of them can stop smiling, though, and Dylan feels the manifestation of that bubbling in her chest.

Some things never change.

 

~

 

It’s an off day and it’s snowing pretty meanly outside so it’s only natural that Alex has brought out all the blankets in the entire house and declared a movie night buried under all five thousand layers.

Dylan couldn’t imagine anything better right now.

So they throw on some shitty Christmas movies from Netflix, eat Skinny Pop in handfuls, right out of the bag, and somehow manage to huddle closer and closer under their quite literal blanket fort.

Dylan doesn’t know when exactly she managed to slot herself against Alex’s side, but she does soon enough, and Alex only pulls her in closer. 

Eventually, there comes a point where it’s obvious that neither of them are really watching the movie. The sound of Alex’s heartbeat, her breath, rings so clearly in Dylan’s ears that it feels like there’s nothing else in the entire room that can distract her.

After a moment, loaded as it is, Alex shifts until they’re dislodged and she’s facing Dylan fully. She’s looking at Dylan like she’s the only thing in the world, and it does something to that ever-rumbly feeling in the pits of Dylan’s stomach. Her heart flutters, and she’s suddenly hit with the realization that the moment is now. 

“Alex, I—” but Dylan stops, the words caught up in her throat, just barely on the cusp of finally bubbling out like they’ve always wanted to. But now, now that they can, they’re jammed right at the last moment, the moment they’ve never dreamed of seeing too quickly here.

But Alex doesn’t wait long for Dylan to try again, to dislodge the words she so badly wants to say. Because Alex runs her hands through her hair until it’s out of her face, folds her hands tightly in her laps, and looks Dylan dead in the eye.

“Dylan, I really have to tell you,” she powers through, clearly playing it by ear, “I have feelings for you, like really strong feelings. Like, like—” she coughs quickly, and continues without missing a beat. “I love you.  _ Love _ you love you.”

Dylan blinks. And she feels numb all over, goosebumps on every inch of her skin. Alex keeps looking at her, hopeful, vulnerable, and Dylan knows she has to say something, and say it fast, but—

She starts laughing, uncontrollably raucous and callous and mostly disbelieving. 

But Alex starts to to unbury herself, makes to get up. “You could maybe just say no?”

And when Dylan looks up, catching her breath, Alex looks stony in a way she rarely does around Dylan. Her lip quivers, just a little, and her eyes look just a little wet. 

That’s not. That’s definitely  _ not _ what Dylan intended for.

Springing up quickly to fix this, Dylan wraps her arms around Alex and pulls her in, even as Alex weakly tries to shove her off. 

“No, oh my god, no,” Dylan says all in a rush. “I just. I love you  _ too _ , like  _ love _ love. For as long as ever, oh my god.” 

“Don’t fuck with me, Dylan, don’t—”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Dylan hushes her, runs her hands through Alex’s hair until it’s as messy as it’s capable of getting. “I was just about to tell you, I was— that was the moment.”

Alex huffs with a laugh, finally sinking into Dylan’s hug, wrapping her own arms around Dyan, too. “Of course we pick the same moment, of course.”

Dylan laughs into her hair, then pulls back just enough to really look at her. “We’re kind of good at that, the whole single wavelength thing.”

And before Alex laugh too much, Dylan’s leaning down and Alex is leaning in, team effort until their lips meet and they kiss like it’s second nature. Like it’s always meant to be.

Alex tastes like her dumb watermelon chapstick and blue gatorade and popcorn and Dylan’s never thought anything could be more delicious.

They’re exactly where they should be. 

 

~

 

The Winter Classic jerseys are pretty fucking sleek.

Dylan even bullied Alex into helping her straighten her hair, as much as it would go without much prep. Alex had tsked the whole way through, groaning about how Dylan should’ve told her earlier, how they could’ve started putting in treatment the night before, could’ve even went in for a blowout or whatever. But Dylan doesn’t mind, because she’s perfectly content to have Alex’s fingers running through her hair, over her scalp, multiple times over.

Bottom line, Dylan thinks she looks pretty fucking hot, fresh new high-waited Lulus that frame her ass and show off her legs, a fitted Winter Classic hoodie that crops just below the hem of her leggings, leather boots with just a little bit of heel, all topped off with a signature, oversize pom pom hat. Alex did her makeup and the smoky eye looks sick as fuck.

And, given all the work she put into Dylan, Alex looks just as stunning, if not more (Dylan will give credit to overnight treatments and Alex’s nightly skincare routine). Her lashes are unbelievably long, a contrast to the light curl in her hair, just enough flounce to be stylish. She opted for the letterman jacket, layered over her shirsey. Her heels are higher, her skin-tight skinny jeans tucked neatly into them. 

“Jesus,” Hayds says when he walks in for media. “You guys really went all out, huh.”

Dylan shrugs while Alex smiles, just a little. “First outdoor game and all, our moms want pictures, you know how that goes.”

John blinks at them for a minute longer, maybe just a little too awe-struck. But Alex laughs, incredibly amused, and easily takes Dylan’s hand in her, intertwines their fingers together. 

“She  _ is _ pretty hot, I’ll admit,” and Alex leans up on her tiptoes, kisses Dylan’s cheek sweet, deliberately light enough to avoid leaving a lipstick mark. 

Dylan can feel herself blush, but she doesn’t try to hide it.

“Thanks, love,” she says, and kisses Alex’s cheek, too.

Yeah, Dylan thinks, things are  _ pretty _ good.

  
  


_ (the end) _

 


End file.
